


Empty Hearts (Where is your hope in this dark night)

by serenadreams



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, bittersweet olicity, dark felicity, non graphic mentions of past non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenadreams/pseuds/serenadreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She lets herself retreat into the darkness that’s been ebbing at the corners of her mind. She lets it consume her, crashing over her in waves until she doesn’t know up from down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Hearts (Where is your hope in this dark night)

**Author's Note:**

> Please read note first!!! 
> 
> I'd like to preface this by saying this isn't something I see ever happening in the show, and I know Felicity is pretty much completely OOC. This was actually kind of a cathartic exercise for me, I was feeling really really dark and depressed last night and I just wrote this to get some of it out, and express it a bit, I guess.  
> I sometimes tend to go a bit dark with fics and although I edited this today to take out some of the really angsty stuff and make it a little more canon compliant, it's still pretty much simply an expression of my feelings right now. Nothing more.
> 
> Title taken from Empty Hearts by As I Lay Dying.

It should scare her really, how calm she is, how unmoved. She thinks vaguely that it’s probably some sort of subconscious coping technique. Self-preservation and all that.

She knows she’s different now. She feels it deep in her soul, a hollow emptiness that was never there in the past. It’s cold and cloying and it settles in her heart, slowly eating away at her light.

She _feels_ different when she sees Oliver. Her eyes settle on him emotionlessly as he walks in, telling her about something he wants her to do. She doesn’t feel the swoop in her stomach, the warmth that used to spread through her whole body when he spoke to her. Instead there’s nothing, just the soft ache of betrayal.

She knows it’s not his fault. Nor is it Diggle’s or Roy’s or Sara’s. But she can’t help but view them differently, can’t help but wonder what could have been _so_ important that none of them could help her.

She’s quiet as Oliver’s voice washes over her, eyes fixed on her computers, calmly carrying out his instructions. He comes closer, his voice dipping as he regards her with something resembling concern.

“Hey. You alright?”

She tilts her head to look at him, a wave of anger washing through her. She bites it back, gritting her teeth and pursing her lips before forcing the corners of her mouth to lift into a smile. It feels more like a sneer but whatever, she tried.

“I’m fine.” She says, the words tasting bitter in her mouth.

Her voice is hard, cold and unwavering. His brows draw together at her tone, but he doesn’t question her. He gives her a nod and goes back to discussing business.

* * *

Sara makes a joke, and bumps Felicity with her hip. Whatever reaction she was expecting; laughter, some awkward rambling, a witty comeback, was far from what she received. Felicity takes a firm step away from her, her face impassive. Sara frowns and opens her mouth to speak when Roy bursts into the lair, talking about some emergency that they’re all needed for. Then they’re rushing for their suits, pulling masks over their faces and grabbing their weapons.

Usually she calls out for them to be safe, feels that flicker of fear in her chest as she watches them walk out the door. Not today, not anymore.

She can’t bring herself to feel anything. Not even concern that they’ll all return in one piece.

* * *

Diggle’s the first one to really question her. He sits on the edge of her desk in the lair and spins her chair to face him.

“Okay. What’s up?” He asks. He’s got that look on his face, the one that says he knows something’s wrong and he won’t take no for an answer.

Of all the people in the world, she thought the one she’d truly be able to count on was Digg. But even he wasn’t there.

She pushes his hands off her chair and turns stiffly back to her computers.

“Felicity!” He steps forward, invading her space, trying to get through to her.

She stands up sharply, quickly jumping away from him.

“Leave me alone Diggle.” She says coldly, not caring when she notices the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

“Okay. If you need anything, let me know.”

The rage bubbles up again and this time she can’t keep it down.

“If I need anything? If I need _anything_?” Her voice echoes around the room and Digg’s eyes widen in surprise. “Check your phone.” She grinds out, watching as he frowns, reaching in his pocket and pulling it out. He stares at it blankly before asking what he’s meant to be looking for.

“What happened two days ago, at around ten thirty?” She asks, impressed by how steady her voice is. There’s no pain anymore, there’re no tears, there’s no fear. It’s all been used up and spent and all she’s left with is an all-consuming anger.

She vaguely hears Oliver and Sara walk down the stairs behind her, but ignores them, focusing on Diggle’s face as he thumbs through his phone.

“Four missed calls from you?” He asks, his eyes lifting to hers.

“I needed you _then_.” She snarls, watching as his face shifts from confusion to concern.

“What’s going on?” Oliver approaches them slowly, glancing hesitantly between the two.

She turns to him, a sickly smile spread across her face.

“And you? How long did it take you to notice you had _seven_ missed calls from me?” She asks, her voice sugary and mocking.

“What?” She waits with raised eyebrows as he checks his phone. “Oh, I saw these yesterday, but you didn’t mention anything at work and I forgot to ask. I assumed it was something QC related?” 

She laughs, the sound dry and brittle. She can see it affects them, each one flinching at the hard sound coming from her usually bubbly, light hearted mouth.

“You’d think, being someone who works with four pseudo-superheroes, I would be the sort of person who had someone to call when they needed help.” She tries desperately to feel something except anger because she _knows_ this isn’t their fault, she knows that it’s not their job to take care of her, she knows she can’t blame them. And she doesn’t really. But she’s broken and bitter, and so, so angry. At everybody, at the world, at herself, at her friends. And so she lashes out.

“You’d think, that as I was being cornered in the parking lot of _your_ club-” She fixes Oliver with cool stare, “ _One_ of the _vigilantes_ I work for, would be bothered to _pick up their damn phone_!” She’s yelling now, her face twisted and her words cold. She relishes in the shocked looks on their faces.

She looks directly into Oliver’s troubled eyes when she continues.

“I called you four times.”

She turns to Diggle. “And you twice.” And Sara. “And you once. Hell, I even called Roy.”

They look scared, and she knows it’s not for themselves. They’re scared of what she’s about to tell them, scared of what happened to her while they were too busy to help. She can already see the guilt settling itself in Oliver’s eyes and knows that in the past she would have done whatever she could to relieve him of it. But not anymore.

“There was time to make _eight_ calls. And all of them went to voicemail.”

Oliver takes a step towards her, an arm raised as though to reach for her. Comfort her? Protect her? She doesn’t care. She takes a firm step back, her eyes staring back at his emotionlessly.

“What happened?” Sara asks, her voice breaking slightly on the last word.

Felicity settles her eyes on her, not missing the way she visibly recoils under her scathing gaze.

“What do you think happened? Despite the couple of self-defense lessons you guys have given me, I’m no match against two men.” She laughs dispassionately. “Didn’t you used to go after men who attack women, _rape_ women in the Glades? That used to be your thing, right? So where were you, when that was happening not 500 yards from here? Were you off fighting some personal vendetta… Or were you in bed with Oliver?”

Tears are slipping down Sara’s face by the time she’s finished, and Oliver and Diggle both look like they’re struggling to control themselves.

“Felicity…” Oliver starts, reaching out to her again, a pained expression distorting his face.

“No!” She shrieks, her voice rising again, that pit of emptiness in her chest opening and aching and the anger is suddenly mixed with endless despair that almost knocks the wind out of her. “I tried you again, three more times. After they were _done_ , I managed to get myself down here, but I was hurt, and bleeding and scared, and shaking so much I couldn’t drive myself home or to the hospital… and the first person I thought of was you.” She knows she’s crying, she can feel the hot tears on her cheeks, the crushing pain in her chest. “Four more times that you didn’t pick up when I _needed_ you. _Any_ of you.” She looks at Diggle, sees the unshed tears glazing his eyes, the guilt wearing him down already. “I called you twice more before I finally got the message. None of you _cared.”_ There’s a collective murmur of denial, and they all step closer to her, but she merely shrugs them off. “Whatever. It’s done, it’s over. I don’t care. Just don’t tell me _you’re here if I need you_ , because you’re not.”

She brushes past them, rushing for the stairs, needing to get as far away from their guilt and their pitying looks as possible.

* * *

Sara’s the first to come, she knocks and calls her name through the door. But Felicity ignores her, and eventually she leaves. Then it’s Diggle, he spends twenty minutes in her hallway, calling out apologies and explanations, and pleas for her to let him in. She ignores him too. When Oliver comes, he doesn’t bother with the door. He comes straight in through a window and crashes into her bedroom with no warning. She’s curled up in bed, an old movie playing on her laptop, but she barely startles at his sudden appearance. She’s still not really feeling the whole _caring_ thing.

He approaches her, sitting cautiously on the edge of her bed, but doesn’t talk. He lets the silence stretch on for what feels like hours, but is probably more like minutes before he finally speaks.

“They’re dead.” His voice is hard and angry and he sounds like the Arrow, not Oliver. “I pulled up some security footage and it wasn’t hard to find them.”

She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to feel about that. Should she be happy? Relieved? The emptiness doesn’t dissipate, if anything, it grows. Because what does it matter? What does any of it matter?

“Felicity.” It’s a prayer on his tongue, in his eyes. But she can’t give him absolution. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected you. I promised that I would, and I failed. And I am so sorry. I know I can never say, or do, anything that can make this better. But you have to know that I am so, _so_ sorry.”

She shrugs and gives him an empty smile. He actually flinches at the sight.

“I know.” She says calmly, her voice detached and flat.

He cautiously reaches a hand out towards her and she doesn’t move away. Despite everything, she’s not scared of him. She never has been. But when he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and strokes his knuckles against her cheek she shudders because it would be _so easy_ to just give up and fall into his arms. To let it all go and cry and let him comfort her, and accept his apologies and listen to all his promises that he’ll never let anyone hurt her again, let herself feel the warmth and solace that he could offer her. But she doesn’t, because the sting of betrayal is so fresh in her heart and the vacant coldness is still coiled in her chest.

It feels like she’s standing on the edge of an abyss, but instead of grasping for something to hold onto, trying to save herself, she wants to fall. Perhaps she already is falling, and she just hasn’t realized it yet. 

He interprets her shudder for something else and quickly withdraws his hand, his brows pulling together and his eyes dancing with another layer of pain. His voice is low and rough with emotion when he speaks.

“It won’t always feel like this, Felicity. I promise. I know that what you went through is something I can never really understand but-” He swallows audibly and closes his eyes. “Sometimes after something bad happened on the island, I’d forget about everything good when it was over. All I could focus on was the anger and the exhaustion and the hopelessness of my world. And I just wanted to lose myself in it, I couldn’t bear to think of anything happy, I couldn’t let myself feel anything because it just hurt too much when I did. But it always passed, Felicity. I’d wake up one morning and I wasn’t so angry any more. And I’d look at the sun rising over the sea and I’d see the beauty in it again…”

He gets off the bed and comes round to kneel by her head, ducking his down so he’s staring her dead in the eye.  She watches him impassively, but they both know she’s hanging off every word, whether she’ll admit it or not.

“You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. And I know that right now you’re angry and all you can see is the darkness. But one day, you’ll wake up and the sun will be shining, and you’ll walk outside and you’ll feel the warmth on your skin and you’ll feel like you can breathe again. And the world will be in color again, and it won’t hurt so much anymore.”

Her heart feels like it’s being held in an iron fist, squeezing and twisting until she’s sure it’s about to crumble to dust inside her.

“I wish I could do something to fix this. But I can’t and it kills me Felicity. But what can do is offer you that _promise_. That it will get better, and it won’t always hurt this bad.”

He stands and hesitates for only a second before he presses a kiss to her forehead. She doesn’t move, her eyes fixed on the spot he’s just vacated.

“I know this doesn’t mean much right now. But if you need someone to talk to or shout at or…hit. I’m here, okay?”

And with that he leaves her bedroom, retreating to her couch to stand guard over her and protect her in any way he still can, even from herself. She thinks he probably needs to absolve himself of the guilt, and she lets him. Too exhausted to bother fighting anymore.

She lets him retreat to her living room. And she lets herself retreat into the darkness that’s been ebbing at the corners of her mind for two days. She lets it consume her, crashing over her in waves until she doesn’t know up from down.

Because she can’t let it hurt. Not yet, not now. Maybe not ever.


End file.
